


November 7th

by boomslangies (emAeye)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Heavy Angst, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4260945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emAeye/pseuds/boomslangies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He couldn't cry if he wanted to, but a panic rose in him, quick and raw and terrifying. He had to get out of here. He had to get out of here. He had to get out of here.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Moody grabbed his elbow, discreetly, firmly.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>"You won't forgive yourself," He murmured, and Remus stayed put as he watched Dumbledore throw a handful of earth into the pit that now housed Lily and James Potter.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	November 7th

* * *

 

 

**November 7th, 1981**

 

The sun shouldn't have come out, and yet it did. The rains from the night before were gone, and the sky was clear, the air cool and crisp. Orange and brown leaves littered the ground, the trees all but bare now. Children played in puddles, singing made up songs and wearing yellow rain-boots, not a care in the world. It would be Christmas soon, they whispered excitedly to each other, though Halloween had just barely passed. Eyes always on the future. There was no past for children, just what was coming. It was only November 7th, but it may as well have been Christmas Eve to them.

Remus envied them as he walked by, his woolen coat turned up at the collar, blocking the wind. Numb hands were shoved into his pockets, fists clenched, trying to keep a grip on something figurative that he couldn't quite express. Hope? Himself? Those were lost things. They'd been slipping and slipping and now they were gone.

He unclenched his fists.

 

Remus wasn't sure that he could go. He wasn't sure that he could really survive it. But he had to, didn't he? He had to go. All morning he had told himself that he had to go, and now that he was only blocks away he was questioning why. Why should he go? What was there for him? What would it matter? They were dead.

He had to go.

There had been no memorial service, no proper goodbyes to the departed. When Remus arrived at the graveyard it was to closed coffins and a scattering of familiar faces. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Diggle, Hagrid, Vance, and Moody. The six of them, and Remus. For a moment, just a split second, Remus looked for two other faces that were never going to be there. Peter was dead. Sirius was...

 

"Lupin," A hand was extended to him as he came upon the entrance, and though Remus took it he could not look Moody in the face. Alastor had been waiting at the gate, his fake eye swirling about, always looking for danger.

Even though Voldemort was gone, they had to be vigilant. Alice and Frank had been given over to St. Mungo's only a few days prior. Their son was Harry's age, Remus knew, but he had never met that little one. It sent a bitter chill up his spine, thinking of Harry and Neville; would they be the types of children to think of Christmas just after Halloween? They already knew so much loss, their futures already so tied to the past. At least Neville could see his parents, though Remus wasn't sure that was much of a blessing. He had seen Alice and Frank and they ... they were gone, too. Everyone was gone.

He felt Alastor's and on his shoulder and realized he hadn't even replied.

"Moody," He nodded, and allowed himself to be led to the rest of the group, and to the graves.

 

Remus stood next to a blubbering Rubeus Hagrid, who had to hold onto McGonagall's shoulder to stop himself from getting too carried away. She cried, too, but in a much more dignified way; a small handkerchief dotted at the corners of her eyes intermittently, a small sniffle taken only at Hagrid's loudest ones. Emmeline Vance offered a sad little smile to Remus from across the way, and Diggle shared a solemn nod of the head. Dumbledore stood at the top of the marker, kindly giving Hagrid a moment to collect himself before speaking.

"It is never easy..." Dumbledore started, but Remus was already lost.

He stared at the matching coffins, floating above their respective graves, waiting to be lowered in. Flowers adorned either one, fresh white roses and baby's breath. Innocence lost. The thought made Remus smirk and ache: James Potter had never been innocent. He had been charming and naive and boisterous, but never innocent.

The first time they had met seemed like only days before, and yet Remus had trouble recalling the exact details. Mostly he remembered James' hair, wild and unkempt, always. The laugh that rang throughout the train cart, followed so closely by Sirius'. They had caused a ruckus almost immediately, racing up and down the aisle, sending sparks and tripping up prefects, finally getting their wands taken away until they arrived to Hogwarts. Remus had stared at them from his compartment window, anxious and excited. He never would have thought that James Potter, laughing and bright, wild haired and hearted, would have been his friend. And yet they were friends.

Or, they had been.

When your friends are dead, are they still your friends?

 

Next to him Hagrid blew his nose, and Remus startled a moment, blinking blind at Dumbledore, at all of them, having forgotten himself. The coffins were lowering slowly into the ground, and Remus had to close his eyes against it, couldn't force himself to see his friends buried. There were no tears, not anymore. He couldn't cry if he wanted to, but a panic rose in him, quick and raw and terrifying. He had to get out of here. He had to get out of here. He had to get out of here.

Moody grabbed his elbow, discreetly, firmly.

"You won't forgive yourself," He murmured, and Remus stayed put as he watched Dumbledore throw a handful of earth into the pit that now housed Lily and James Potter.

His heart sank and he was glad that Moody still held him at the elbow; otherwise he might have sunk with it. He might have sunk to the ground and never stopped sinking, until he was curled warm against James Potter's dead body, deep in the earth.

 

_He was dead in there! In that coffin James Potter was dead! His eyes were closed and his hair was wild and he was dead!_

 

Remus gasped hard, taking a step back, tripping, only to be caught by Hagrid this time. Poor Hagrid, god, poor Hagrid. He must have been so heartbroken, seeing tiny baby Harry all alone, crying and terrified.

Was he alone? Where were James and Lily's bodies? Were they all together? Did Harry see them? Did he know his parents were dead? What happened to Sirius? Did he stay to watch after Harry? How could he have given Harry to you, Hagrid? Did you have to fight Sirius for the baby? Did Sirius just give up Harry and flee into the night? Did he tell you that he was secret keeper? Did he tell you that he betrayed them? Did Sirius tell you that he killed the Potters? He killed them! He killed them! He killed them!

Remus opened his mouth, wanting to ask so many questions, to say so many things, but all that came out was a soft, "Thank you, Hagrid."

 

The crowd slowly dispersed, each saying a word or two to Remus, before parting. They were going to the pub, he should come along, sorry about this, so sorry, we're all so sorry that this happened, we're sorry you're alone, we're sorry that everyone you love is dead, we're so sorry Remus, _we're so sorry_.

Only Dumbledore stayed, and for a long while the two of them just stared down into the graves, covered in flowers and a bit of dirt.

"Who chose that?" Remus asked softly, not looking to Dumbledore at all.

" _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death_ ," Dumbledore recited, a somber little grin playing on his mouth, "I chose it." He sounded as if he might cry.

"What about Lily's sister? ... Petunia, was it?" Remus only now thought of her, Lily's sister, whom he had never met. James had horrible stories about Petunia and her husband Vernon, and Remus had laughed and laughed when he heard them. Vernon had asked about a car, and James Potter, charming and arrogant and wild haired, had told the man about his racing broom.

Poor Lily, though. She had never gotten on well with her sister as far as Remus knew. Lily was the only magical one in her family, and apparently her sister had taken that the hard way. Remus had never asked much of Lily's family, but now he wanted to know everything about them. He wanted to know if they were kind, if they were fiery, if they were smart and compassionate and genuine and funny. If they were all the things that Lily is... but no one could ever be all of the things that Lily is.

Was. Had been. She wasn't anything but dead now.

Had her hair lost its luster? Was it framed around her face, red and full and perfect? Was it as bright as it always had been, or did death steal color, too? Did it steal the color of her eyes just as it had stolen everything else about her? Was Lily frozen and colorless in there? What had death done to Lily Potter?

 

"They are safe," Dumbledore assured, though it wasn't the question Remus had been asking. Perhaps they didn't even know. Perhaps they hadn't wanted to come.

"And Harry?" Remus managed, just barely, finally looking to Dumbledore, "He's safe with them? He's... he's alright with them?"

"Harry will be just fine, Remus," Albus assured gently, taking Remus' arm and giving a little squeeze, "He will grow up with his family, where he should be."

At this Remus laughed, cold and dark, "His family is dead!" He cried, throwing his arm to the graves, out of Dumbledore's assuring grasp, pointing, "They're in there, Albus! They're dead in there!"

Albus looked at Remus not with pity, but a stark sadness. He was sorry, too, but it was different. Dumbledore held his hands open in submission; yes, they were in there, and they were dead, and there was nothing anyone could do about it, not even him. That's what Dumbledore was sorry for.

"I-..." Remus shook, closed his eyes, "I'm sorry, Dumbledore, I-..."

"It is quite alright, Remus," Albus assured softly, "Grief is a difficult thing to bear, and you have more than your fair share of it."

 

More than anything else Remus had grief.

He had been away when he heard the news of Lily and James' death. He had been with other werewolves, doing his job, his duty to The Order, to Dumbledore, when word had come that Voldemort was gone. The fact that Voldemort was gone, dead it seemed, should have given Remus immense joy and relief. For a moment, for a few moments, it did. And then he heard the whispers, heard the rumors and stories about the night just before.

_"The Dark Lord is vanished!"_

_"The Potters are dead!"_

_"The baby is alive!"_

 

Remus fled that night under cover of darkness, and he wasn't the only one to do so. Fear had gripped most of them; now that Voldemort was gone, they'd be punished and persecuted, even if they'd done nothing wrong. Simply being a werewolf was enough. They'd be hunted and tried as criminals, if only because some of them had been on Voldemort's side. It was no surprise that most chose to flee instead of regroup with the Death Eaters.

It had been all Remus could do, though, to not believe the rumors until he got back. Until he heard it from Dumbledore himself. And when he had, when Dumbledore said that it was Sirius who had betrayed the Potters, that James and Lily were dead, Remus had nearly collapsed. The final blow was Peter. Sirius had murdered Peter. Remus wished he had been around, that he had been closer, that he hadn't been with a fringe of werewolves, because then maybe Sirius would have come to kill him too, and he could have asked why. Did Peter ask why? Did they share any words at all? Twelve muggles dead and Peter nothing but his pinky, and did Sirius give him a reason? Did he give Peter a chance to ask why? Why would Sirius do this? How could he do this?

But no one had answers. Dumbledore had no answers. When the papers came out with Sirius' mug-shot, laughing and screaming and mad, Remus had let the last of his hope go. There was no reason why. It just was.

 

There wouldn't be a funeral for Peter, his mother choosing to honor her son's life by holding a small ceremony in her garden when she was going to be presented with his Order of Merlin. Mrs. Pettigrew had always been kind to them, even if she was a muggle, even if she didn't quite comprehend magic and Hogwarts and wizarding things. She had understood friendship, and that Peter had good boys looking out for him. She told them every time they were around how good they were, _"Such good boys, all of you. Here, have more pie, there's plenty for seconds!"_ Did she still think they were good boys?

Had they ever been good? After this, after all this now, had they really been good for Peter? Had they ever been good for each other? If none of them had known the others, perhaps no one would be dead. Perhaps they all would have survived.

Remus would go to the little ceremony for Peter and speak with his grieving mother, try to help her understand all the things that had occurred, and why Peter was dead. He barely understood it himself.

 

Even now, as he stared at James and Lily's gravestone, Remus barely understood what had happened.

"Does it get easier? Will it get easier?" he looked to Dumbledore, pleading with the man that had cared for him for so many years at Hogwarts, and even these years after.

Remus owed Dumbledore so much. Owed him his life -- would give it. Yes, he would have given his life too, and yet Remus, out of all of them, had survived the war. He wasn't the brightest of them, he wasn't the strongest of them, he wasn't the kindest or the funniest or the bravest or most worthy, but he had lived. There was no reason for him to have outlived his friends. There was no reason that James and Lily should be lying cold and colorless in their graves without him, and yet they were.

After a long moment Albus shook his head and looked to the bright sky, "No, Remus, it will not get easier. It does not get easier, but ... you grow accustomed to it. The pain of death becomes a part of living, and you grow used to it. You just grow used to it."

 


End file.
